


Don't Mess With Assistant's Guardian

by I_Have_No_Clue



Series: Types [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Beta Types, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Omega John, Omega Types, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, maybe a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 06:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1335784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Have_No_Clue/pseuds/I_Have_No_Clue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In old times, an Omega's part in the pack was to protect the home. Now, why do you think this is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Mess With Assistant's Guardian

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sherlock! No Brit picker or Beta reader. Just got some cookies.
> 
> Warning!  
> Minor mentions of blow jobs  
> Minor mentions of violence  
> Sexual Intercourse

A long time ago, when Alphas and Omegas were still uncivilized, it was accepted that while the Alphas were the ones who defended the territory and all that lies on it, Omegas would protect home. Now a days, Omegas, tend to be treated like dainty little dolls, as if they’ll break if you touch them wrong (amazing though how this tends to be forgotten during heat).

But despite their treatment, Omegas still have those protective instincts. Some more then others.

John Watson just happens to be part of that ‘some’.

It was a rather simple case they were on at the moment, rating a 5 on the Sherlock’s ‘Am-I-Bored-Enough-To-Give-This-My-Attention’ meter. Though when robbing herbs and other produce from grocery stores to make a complicated blend of an aphrodisiac drink for a night club that catered to Omegas and Betas, John mourned his for his common sense and decency.

Normal was always overrated and impossible anyway. Might as well have some fun.

Still didn’t change the fact he had to not only play ‘My-Bonded-Is-Such-An-Arse’ as was his bait’s cover, but he had to play drunk distraction. Wasn’t to hard, but he hated it when Sherlock was out of his line of sight too long in unfamiliar, hostile territory. Needless to say, he was a wee bit irritated.

He glared venom at the Provider Beta that was about to approach him with some drinks, who quickly changed his path to approach a Slayer Omega, who didn’t look any happier to see him.

Okay, maybe he was very irritated… Maybe a bit pissed off.

Watching the tiny Slayer punch a man two times her weight made him smirk.

Alright, he was very pissed.

Sherlock knew he hated playing bait and distraction, as he wasn’t the best actor and his distractions tended to either involve bullets or him being flirted with by despicable people. And to add the metaphorical cherry to the top, the bloody bastard also knew he hated it when he went off by himself.

He always got hurt when he did that.

So John was left at the damn bar, a mass of irritation, anger, worry, and fear all directed and for his Bonded Idiot.

Deciding that his way of thinking wasn’t helping him to much, the army doctor decided to take a look around the bar, hoping to find something to distract himself with.

As he did so, he saw the Slayer Omega again, ranting to a female Beta. John would take a guess that they were a Defender. Then again, as their were only four Types of Betas, he didn’t have a hard time of guessing it.

Though it probably would explain why the Omega was here, as O-Type Slayers were well know for being brash, destructive, and homicidal, not liking crowds. The ‘Berserker of the Omegas’ as they were called. But with a B-Type Defender, the calm, protective mother hens of their world, it wouldn’t be hard to convince anyone to come with.

Looking around, John was adamantly surprised to see almost all of the Types here. (And as a doctor, they were trained to tell a Type so that they would be able to handle the patient. His observation skills were high in that at least, though not perfect.)

There were a full group of B-types in a corner playing a card game. The infamous Joker was grinning like the devil, obviously cheating and not bothering to hide it when they were called out on it. They were known well as the tricky sort, loved a good laugh, and loved to share it.

Then there was the Provider from earlier, grumbling along with the others at his table. They were well know for their need to give and give, happy to help. If they didn’t have such a hording problem, for who knows if someone might need it someday, then they made pretty good roommates.

Finally we have the Defender and a Soldier sitting opposite from them. Soldiers were well know for their fighting skills and following orders. Though they do tend to have a bit of a temper problem and small cases of OCD.

Taking a sip of his slowly warming drink, John continues looking around, trying to see if he can spot any of his fellow O-Types besides the Slayer.

Ah, there is a Serf, sobbing into some Beta’s shoulder. Serfs were the most submissive of all Omegas, and were the happy follower. Though this one obviously wasn’t that happy at the moment. They must be really stressed to show such emotion, as most Serfs tended to be permanently blank-faced. Or they could be drunk. Very drunk.

In another corner, the doctor found he had to look away, as what was obviously a Harem Omega giving head to a Guard Omega. While John had no problem with same-sex dating/marriage, he was however of the belief that private things should remind private.

Sherlock had been rather disappointed that exhibitionism or voyeurism were a no go.

(Partly because of his belief for privacy, and the other because of the detective’s possessiveness. John would be paranoid that any who did catch them would soon find themselves blind or other ‘punishments’ for seeing him naked. He would just have to go other routes to show that John was his (which he accomplished by leaving dark hickies all over his neck.))

But to be truthful, seeing a Harem Omega do that wasn’t too surprising; they were the absolute definition of sexual addicts. Something about their biology made it to where the simplest of pleasure was multiplied 5x, making even the slightest sexual touch leave them breathless.

What was surprising was how they convinced a Guard Type Omega along for the ride. Guard Types were actually rather reclusive and secretive, preferring a small group of tight nit friends than large groups of allies. They were rather private and cold to those they didn’t trust and down right deadly to those they hated. Hell, it was shocking one was even here.

Must be some good head then.

While John was content to look around more to see if he could spot a fellow Assistant, he stilled when he heard gun shots. Uncaring about what everyone around him was doing, John rushed to the sound, finding that he was heading towards the stage. Cursing that the stage and the bar were on other sides of the club, the Assistant doctor pushed his way towards the place everyone else was rushing away from.

He found himself stopping when he took in the scene, before letting out a snarl.

There, right on the stage and taking cover behind an amp, was his Guardian Alpha, his black curls a mess and his skin paler then usual. The paleness soon became understandable, seeing as Sherlock was clutching at his arm, which had blood dripping from it.

Now, here are some facts.

1) John has been faring on about three hours of sleep.

2) His patience has already gone out the window with this case on the second day. (it’s been a week)

3) He loves Sherlock very much and hates seeing him hurt.

4) He has, all night mind you, been worrying, been angry, and fearful that something might happen.  
What do all these facts equate to? Here’s the equation.

1+2+3+4= John Snaps.

Well, more like explodes.

Soon, the Omega finds himself on the stage, rushing at the gun man who is trying to load his gun quickly. He never gets the chance when he finds an army trained Assistant Omega doctor on his ass, tearing into him like a mongoose does into a snake.  
It takes four officers and Sherlock’s calming voice to keep him from destroying the man.

Though he certainly will be hospitalize for a bit.

After Sherlock is done wowing the police, John drags his Bonded out of the club to catch a cab. After the rather charged silence on the way home to 221B, the short walk to their shared flat’s bathroom happens, where Sherlock, without a word, rolls up his sleeve. John can’t help but let a sigh of relief pass his lips at seeing it is just a graze. Gently, yet still firm, John goes about disinfecting and cleaning the wound, his mind fully focused on taking care of his Alpha.

Once it is bandaged, the Omega suddenly finds himself pushed against the door, Sherlock practically plundering and pillaging every surface in his mouth. Teeth meet as tongues swipe as hands wonder up shirts to torture sensitive nipple. John lets out a groan as his nails dig into his Alpha’s shoulders, trying to make sure he stays up.

“Do you realize just how stupid it was to rush at an armed perpetrator? What if he had shot you? What if he had hurt you?” Sherlock asked, his body practically encasing and covering his own as he spoke against his bonded’s lips.

“He hurt you. I found that rather rude and unacceptable.” John answers, holding his Alpha’s intense gaze. It’s not a challenging stare, no, its merely one that means he will not move on this point.

At his words and his stare, Sherlock softens, placing a chaste, yet lingering kiss. It is just a simple brush of lips, nothing dirty like their previous one, but it still holds its own kind of emotional weight.

Soon, more kisses follow, as do clothes, as they exit the bathroom and into their room (John’s old one is now the room he puts his stuff or where he goes to when he needs some space). When John realizes he is on the bed and that Sherlock is biting his bond bite, he moans as he feels his natural lube slide down his thighs.

Thank god for bond bites and that they can cause a Omega to lubricate on command.

Before he gets to lost in pleasure, he pulls away from Sherlock, who raises an eyebrow and eyes him curiously.

“I want to rid you.” _I want to see you and know you’re here and still alright._

“… That is acceptable.” _I do as well._

It’s been awhile, as Sherlock hasn’t been in the mood with the case and all, then add to the fact that he had a black mood before said case, so John is still nice and tight as he slides down his Alpha’s rather sizable cock.

John takes a moment to enjoy the fullness, the pleasure and pain that slide up his spine that cause him to shiver, which leads his Guardian Alpha to moan as he grips his hips tightly. He’ll probably have some bruising, but at the moment, the very thought of Sherlock marking him just fills him with need.

As this is happening, Johns sees his detective watch, never saying a word, never telling to hurry up, never asking if he can, or giving hints; he doesn’t need to, as he reads Johns body like he would a criminology report. Suddenly, he thrusts into that wonderful bundle of nerves that is John’s prostate, causing the Omega to release a near silent gasping scream of pleasure.

The rhythm is hard and fast, Sherlock playing dirty by lazily stroking his Assistant’s cock, his eyes never leaving John’s, who refuses to look away as he squeezes his inner muscles around his bonded. Neither one will last long due to the absence of sex lately, but both want the other to come first.

To John’s dismay, that would be him, as the penetration, stroking, and hungry/possessive gaze of his Alpha sends him over. At least Sherlock comes a second later, as the tightness and the picture John made carried off the last bit of control he had, making him thrust deep and hard.

After a bit, with John collapsed on Sherlock whose cock is still inside him, he slowly lifts himself off that lovely warm body beneath him and, with a wince, removes himself from his Alpha.

With one finale sigh, he cuddles close to his Sherlock a smile on his face.

“… We really should take a shower.” Sherlock suggests, yet encircles his arms around John.

“After we sleep.”

“We’ll get dirty.”

“Like that’s stopped us before.”

“You’ll be leaking.”

“Like the thought doesn’t please you greatly. We’ll take a nap now, then we’ll get clean. That clear?” John said with a huff and a glare, which only got him an amused smirk.

“Crystal."


End file.
